


I guess I'm my own better half

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-05
Updated: 2007-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:23:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal





	I guess I'm my own better half

"Oh hey, um," Patrick said when he stepped back into his room from his morning-shower and saw the man sitting cross-ankle on his bed, flicking idly through some four-year-old issue of _National Geographic_. "Maybe you're looking for Kevin's room, it's across the hall--"

"I know where Kev's room is, Patrick," the man said, not looking up so that Patrick could get a better look at his face under the brim of the brightly coloured baseball cap. Patrick tugged self-consciously at the hem of his ratty black t-shirt and hoped his boxers weren't that short. "I'm here to see you. Kind of."

Patrick's first thought to himself was, _Maybe I should go get Mom_.

The second thought, when the stranger finally raised his head and the identical shade of Patrick's eyes stared back at him from behind a pair of glasses, was _Holy shit, fuck me. And I totally mean that in the non-literal way._

"You might mean it literally, too," Older Patrick said mildly, smiling a little. Patrick stumbled back over his drum kit and the dude winced. "You okay?"

"My _butt_ ," Patrick whined, getting up slowly and steadying the crash-cymbal. He blinked at Older Patrick, who was a whole lot rounder than Patrick thought he should have been. His eyes seemed guarded and cool; Patrick was particularly entranced by his hair.

"It's long," he said in wonderment as he stared as the hair escaping from under the hat, hobbling over to sit at the very edge of the bed. Being fairly practical for his age, he had come to a few likely conclusions:

1\. He was still asleep and this was the most lucid dream ever, or

2\. He was crazy. But his drums seemed to have been placed with him in this clever padded room, so he was fine with that... or

3\. This was real. Ok, sweet.

"Yeah!" Older Patrick's reserve seemed to break up instantly and he pulled a little on the copper ends, giving a large grin. "I-- _we_ couldn't bother to cut it one day and it just grew out. I like it... but I might cut it again soon. You like the 'burns?"

"They actually grow?" Patrick wanted to touch them. Older Patrick gave an indulgent smile and leaned forward a little, presenting his cheek. Hesitantly, Patrick reached a hand and touched the lush hair. "Soft."

Older Patrick rolled his eyes a little and smiled more as he leaned back.

"So. Why are you here?" Patrick looked at the older version of himself warily. "Is there some sort of cosmic adventure? Like, do I have to save the world? Cause I have this part-time job at Border's later and I kinda need to--"

"No, everything's fine," Older Patrick said and looked a little exasperated. "It was an accident."

Patrick stared at him.

"Dude, this is time-travel. It sort of can't be an accident."

"It sort of _is_ when you roll with... the people I roll with. I'm not sure if I should tell you who they are. Just know that one reads a lot of crazy shit and another likes to _do_ crazy shit."

Patrick blinked, dazed. Part of his mind had been entirely devoted to listening to Older Patrick's voice, really hearing the way he rolled the vowels around a tightly controlled pitch. There was power in this voice. It sounded a little like his dad, only...fuller.

Trying to find something to do (and thinking about getting on more clothes) Patrick slipped off the bed and bent to look for his jeans, hoping to find his sneakers on the way.

"One is under the desk," Older Patrick put in helpfully and shook his head. "I really _am_ messy."

"I know where everything is," Patrick said shortly, dragging out a few pairs of dusty socks. "And that's fine by me."

There was a silence as he fussily shook the socks and flung them into another corner. He looked up and Older Patrick was laughing silently, shoulders shaking as he squeezed his eyes shut, fair lashes a sweet fan against those cheeks. Patrick thought about being offended, but Older Patrick had a very nice smile, open and sunny.

 _I am so very vain_ , Patrick thought.

"Dude, I _forgot_ what a bitch I was. Seriously."

"What is it that you do?" Patrick asked, finding the jeans stuffed under the little stool behind the drum kit. "I mean. Me. Us."

"We do the thing we love best." Older Patrick was still smiling, but it was cryptic and strangely bitter. "It's a lot more and a lot less than you think it is."

"Wow," Patrick breathed, one hand stuck in a pocket of the jeans as he gazed starry-eyed at himself. "I get to play drums for a band."

The mysterious smile got wider and Older Patrick shook his head, a slight movement. He tilted his head a little, face becoming contemplative.

"You know what? I'm just going to tell you. We don't play drums at all, unless it's for fun. We sing."

"Sing what?" Patrick asked, sticking one leg in the jeans. Older Patrick laughed again, right out loud this time and Patrick thought it was such a gorgeous sound. _Is that how other people will hear me?_

"Everything." Older Patrick looked slightly surprised himself. "As in, lead singer."

Patrick stumbled again and managed to miss the drum kit but fell against the chair of his study table. Older Patrick frowned.

"Was I that clumsy?" He wrinkled his nose. "I mean, yeah, I used to walk into door-frames a lot and there was that time on the walkway when Dad--"

"I sing," Patrick said a little breathlessly. He managed to sit on the sturdy chair, one leg still out of the jeans. "No, that can't be right."

Older Patrick shrugged.

"Being in a band is insane, a lot of the time," he admitted. "And you're back and forth between countries and dude, did you know when people scream your name, it sort of _drills_ into your head? And water tastes different everywhere. Which is not so strange."

"Who screams my name?" Patrick felt a little tired of gaping. "I mean, who would _want_ to scream it?"

"I don't even know," Older Patrick sighed and slid down a little on the bed, one hand comfortably behind his head. "Hey. This is actually kind of nice. Quiet. You never get enough quiet around Pete---whoops."

"Pete who?" Patrick wriggled into his jeans and took the chance to yank off the shirt he had on and pull on a nicer one. "Only one Pete I know, Peter Anderson down the road, but he's an asshole--"

"Wentz." Older Patrick said the name with an affection that was warm and impatient at the same time. "Pete Wentz. And he's an asshole, too."

"Hey, in the future, I'm a goddamned liar," Patrick finally said, after a long minute. "Because there is no way I'm going to be in a band with _the_ Pete Wentz. No fucking way, man."

"And Andy Hurley, too."

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Andy _fucking_ Hurley?" Patrick waved his hands in the air around the drum-kit, as if Hurley was sitting right behind them, sticks in hand.

"Yeah, and this?" Older Patrick said, flapping one hand between them tiredly. "Is Andy and Pete's fault. As soon as I get back, I'm going to kick them in the ass."

"You're going to--" Patrick started faintly and stopped. His head was literally spinning and he staggered over to the bed again, sitting so heavily that Older Patrick bounced a little. He got a glare but didn't notice it. "This is crazy."

"Yeah, but Joe balances it out. Don't worry about who that is. You'll find out pretty soon."

"Pete Wentz," Patrick said wonderingly. Older Patrick had flung his arm over his eyes by now and was still smiling gently as Patrick looked down at him. "What...what's he like?"

Older Patrick's mouth turned down a little, although there was still an air of good humour about him.

"He's... he's Pete. I don't know how to describe him." He moved his arm a little and one eye glittered at Patrick. "He drives me crazy. He's smart and sometimes he does stupid shit and his mouth runs constantly and you want to kill him."

"He's beautiful," Patrick blurted without thinking, feeling strangely defensive of _the_ Pete Wentz. Older Patrick's pale arm slid off his face and he gave Patrick a long, searching look. Patrick blushed.

"Yeah," he finally said softly. "We've always thought that. He gets even more beautiful, if you can believe it. He's... persuasive. He managed to get me to take off the cap for some project of his...bald spot everywhere, it was madness."

"Bald spot?" Patrick said blankly. Older Patrick sat up a little, removed his had and Patrick stifled a shriek. "Why did you let that happen? That's not going to happen. Oh my god."

Older Patrick laughed and put on back his cap.

"It's a part of our appeal! Like the thighs and the mouth."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Ah, they figured it out," Older Patrick said in satisfaction as his form flickered like a candle and began to fade, feet first. "Look, just. You're better than you think at what you do... and um. Believe in yourself?"

"I am still so very lame," Patrick mourned. "Hey, do I get any cooler?"

"Maybe," Older Patrick said, fading by the neck now. "If Pete trying to kiss you onstage is a sign of being cool, then yeah."

"Oh," Patrick said to the now empty bed. "That...that is a little weird. But nice to know, I guess."

"It's nice to feel," Older Patrick's voice said from absolutely nowhere and Patrick heard the echo of another voice, muffled and low as if it was coming from another room: _Nice to feel what, Patrick?_

 _Shut up_. Older Patrick's voice had gained the same muted quality, fading even more. _Hey, don't run. I'm going to kill you now...Joe, don't open that door...._

Patrick stood for a moment, blinking at the floor. He pulled on his sneakers and made to walk dreamily out of his room. After a pause at the door, he turned back and rifled in his closet, coming out with a baseball cap. Grinning, he stuck it over his head and sauntered out the door.


End file.
